


I Keep on Falling (In and Out of Color with You)

by MayGlenn



Series: May's February Ficlet Challenge 2019 [13]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cousin Incest, Fingon Is A Little Shit, M/M, Maedhros is Tediously Noble, Or slow for short!fic anyway, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU - See in Color for the First Time, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 02:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17799146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: Fingon had always seen in color; rather, he didn’t remember a time when he couldn’t see color, so he must have met his soulmate before he could articulate or even recognize the difference between not-color and color. He grew up not really being able to understand his peers or his siblings’ reactions to seeing color for the first time as exciting: for him, it was always just that way. There had always been color in Fingon’s world.Maedhros could tell the moment he first saw color, but he wasn’t eager to share the story. What he told everyone who asked was that he saw color at the first presentation of his cousin Fingon in his grandfather’s court, where nearly all of Tirion was in attendance—so how was he to know his soulmate in such a crowd? But what he knew in his heart was that he first saw colors when he approached Fingon’s crib to give his baby cousin a gift: a copper rattle, which was suddenly a shocking red-gold against the blue of the baby’s eyes.





	I Keep on Falling (In and Out of Color with You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Findecutie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findecutie/gifts).



Fingon had always seen in color; rather, he didn’t remember a time when he couldn’t see color, so he must have met his soulmate before he could articulate or even recognize the difference between not-color and color. He grew up not really being able to understand his peers or his siblings’ reactions to seeing color for the first time as exciting: for him, it was always just that way. The sky was blue when lit by Telperion; it was purple when lit by Laurelin. The grass was green. Maedhros’ hair was bright orange. There had always been color in Fingon’s world. 

Maedhros could tell the moment he first saw color, but he wasn’t eager to share the story. What he told everyone who asked was that he saw color at the first presentation of his cousin Fingon in his grandfather’s court, where nearly all of Tirion was in attendance—so how was he to know his soulmate in such a crowd? But what he knew in his heart was that he first saw colors when he approached Fingon’s crib to give his baby cousin a gift: a copper rattle, which was suddenly a shocking red-gold against the blue of the baby’s eyes. 

But, he couldn’t love a baby! Neither was it customary among the Noldor for kin quite so near to wed, and Fëanor was concerned with the continuation of his line over his half-brother’s, so Maedhros was expected to produce heirs. He dutifully attempted to court several eligible young bachelorettes, but they would usually lose interest in him, heir to the Kingship of the Noldor or no, when a chance meeting with another elda had them seeing in living color. By then Maglor had a wife, though, and Curufin, and Celegorm and Aredhel were popular gossip for their illicit trysts, so the pressure began to let up. 

Of course, Maedhros and Fingon were the best of friends as Fingon grew up: that much of the soulmate bond was accurate. Fingon was a bright child, quick and fearless, and as a young elda he developed—or admired—or mimicked—Maedhros’ temperament: his love of order, his concern for others, be they his brothers or his people, his love of justice, and freedom, and science and innovation and music. Unlike Maedhros, Fingon could actually play instruments and sing passably, and once he got over the brief attempt to try to be as serious as his cousin all the time, he could also tell stories and jokes admirably, and was beloved by all, and welcomed into the Fëanorian household as a sort of eighth son. 

“Why don’t you think I have a soulmate, Maitimo?” Fingon asked, one day, as they lay in bed together: Maedhros read to distract himself from his newly matured and frustratingly attractive cousin-twice-removed. “Why haven’t they told me? Do you think they know?” 

“They may not know for sure, Findekáno,” Maedhros assured him, opening his arms to him as Fingon cuddled up against his side: innocently, perhaps, though Maedhros knew his cousin and best friend well enough to be suspicious of his innocence. “It’s hard to go up to the high prince of the Noldor who has always seen in color and tell him you  _ might  _ have been been near him sometime when he was a baby.” 

“But surely they’d do it now that I’m of age, wouldn’t they?” Fingon asked. He rested his head on Maedhros’ shoulder and plucked idly at his harp. 

“I can’t think why she wouldn’t,” Maedhros said, diplomatically. Maedhros was nothing if not diplomatic. 

“Oh, I don’t think I’m interested in  _ nissi _ ,” Fingon comments, simply. “I think I hope my soulmate is a  _ ner _ .” 

“Oh,” Maedhros said, and coughed. “Well, that’s alright. He’s your soulmate, so I’m sure you’re right. But it’s getting late. Do you want me to make up your bed for you?” 

“You don’t have to, Russandol. I can just sleep here with you. I promise I won’t even move when I sleep! I don’t do that anymore!” 

Maedhros snorted, to cover up his alarm. “You’re lying.”

Fingon, of course, suspected his beloved cousin of being his soulmate, almost from when he was old enough to be capable of suspicion. But Maedhros never folded, like Fingon expected and hoped that he would, and when the unrest of the Noldor began, they didn’t have much time to find out. 

Fingon knew it for certain only when it was too late, when in his anger and hatred as he watched the ships burn at Losgar, he renounced in his heart any love he ever felt for Fëanor and his sons and all the company who traveled with them. As he spoke the Curse under his breath, not knowing how Maedhros actually stood aside and defied his father’s madness, the orange light of the fire dulled away to mere brightness. 

But, he thought bitterly, the Trees had been devoured and the only Light was starlight, so what use did he have for color, anyway? 

Across the sea, Maglor, his face darkened with soot, found Maedhros on his knees. “I can’t see colors, anymore, Kano,” he told his brother, in a moment of weakness. 

Maglor squeezed his shoulder and sighed. “It was Findekáno, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, Nelyo.”

...

Their broken soulbond had to be be bound again in blood, and even after the rising of the Sun, neither Maedhros nor Fingon saw color until the place where Maedhros’ hand used to be gushed blood, scarlet and thick, and he was free of Morgoth’s iron. 

Maedhros fell back onto a bed of golden eagle feathers, and against Fingon’s long hair bound in gold. 

“I almost thought I could see color again, when I heard you sing,” he whispered, as Fingon bandaged his wrist to stop the bleeding and pulled him close, and Thorondor bore them to safety through the skies. 

“I’m still furious with you,” Fingon said, through clenched teeth. He held tight to Maedhros and tight to Thorondor, though the Eagle told him again he would not drop them for anything. 

“Findekáno, I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him! I swear to you, I never burned any of the ships, and I tried to get him to stop!” Maedhros blurted out, trying to clutch at him with his only remaining hand. It might have been the bloodloss, but he was mesmerized by how strong and hardened Fingon looked now, how icy blue his eyes had become. He was embarrassed at how pathetic his had become in comparison: how bleached and gaunt, and now how he wept so easily.  

“You didn’t?” Fingon said, actually slightly taken aback. He did gentle, seeing Maedhros’ tears, and he held him close as he told him: “That’s not why I am furious at you, you utter fool. You had literal  _ ages  _ to tell me we were soulmates, and you never did! You had to wait until—until—all this!”

“Did you really only rescue me to scold me?” Maedhros asked, a faint smile that was definitely due to bloodloss on his face. 

“Yes! You Valar-damned  _ prude _ !” 

Maedhros reached up to draw his cousin into a kiss. If they thought they had seen color before, when they pulled apart, the world had grown even more vibrant. Fingon’s hair was so dark it had an almost blue tint; Maedhros’ eyes were greenish-gray, like his mother’s, and the spark of life had returned to them. Beleriand lay beneath them, green and blue and gold and black and brown and purple and white. “I promise you,  _ melamin _ ; only one of those is true.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thirteenth in the February Ficlet Challenge of 2019. The prompt was "Soulmates." Part 1 of Today's _Silmarillion_ Double Feature.
> 
> This work is dedicated to Findecutie, who knows every Soulmate-AU idea on AO3, and kept throwing them at me until one stuck.


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